


Fixes

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny has ideas about fixing Steve's problems.  Spoilers for all episodes through 1x11</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixes

Chin leaves Steve alone – and that's one of the things Steve likes best about Chin, his ability to know when to push and when to back off, a quality that some people could stand to develop instead of asking Kono questions and throwing concerned looks across the office until Steve's ready to climb the walls. He's on edge enough already, thoughts messed up and crowded without a clear way through the morass, and the last thing he needs is for Danny to play mother hen, to cloud up his thinking with questions and gestures; to set his solid, stubborn presence in Steve's path, throwing out off-hand barbs until he says something he isn't ready to say.

He waits for Danny to hit the john and flees, telling himself it's a tactical retreat.

It's dark at the shore, the house a steady presence at his back despite the bullet holes, the half-finished framing, the drywall that needs to come down. Beer in his hand, sand beneath his feet, crickets singing their feeble competition with the surf, it's almost enough to quiet the ringing in his ears. But he can't unknow what Chin's told him, can't unimagine the ways his mother might have died, and can't seem to outrun Danny, who's tramping across the lawn with the grace of a boar.

"I brought spackle," Danny calls out.

Steve blinks, and turns around. " _Spackle?_ "

Danny waves the tub he's holding. "Fills holes. Fixes stuff. Figure we could take a look at your ventilation problem."

It's twisted cause-and-effect, but Steve's no longer thinking about his mother. "Ventilation problem?" he asks.

"What, you got, like, a tic or something? You have to repeat everything I say? Yeah, ventilation. You got bullet holes, I got spackle, what's the big deal?"

Steve tries to come up with an answer. "No big deal."

"Good. Where's the beer?"

"House."

"Figures. You can't even wallow without a keeper. Who broods over one beer? I mean, you got stuff to figure out, you bring the six pack _with_ you, my friend. You do not get up and go back and forth; interrupts the quality of the thinking process, take it from me."

Steve can't help himself, he laughs; it's all so fucking ridiculous. "So go get it," he says. "You need help? Your knee busted again?"

"Blow me." Danny sets the spackle on the seat of a chair, turns back toward the house. "Start making spackle plans. I don't have all night. Okay, maybe just most of it, 'cause who are we kidding, I got nowhere else to be, and I turned off my phone 'cause Vader's on a tear . . . "

Danny's voice fades into a reassuring hum, punctuated by the slam of the door, the rattle of bottles as he opens up the fridge. Steve reaches out, plucks the spackle from the chair, turns it around in his hand in the darkness.

"You figure out what needs fixing?" Danny yells.

"Yeah," Steve says to himself. "Got an idea."


End file.
